


So Little Left to Give

by Sineala



Category: Avengers (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, New Avengers (Comics)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Angst, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Community: cap_ironman, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, New Avengers Vol. 1 (2004), holy shit what's happened to Tony?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-03-30 22:03:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19036468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sineala/pseuds/Sineala
Summary: Steve's alive again... but Tony isn't anywhere to be found. Steve knows what to do about that. His quest to find Tony takes him to the frozen depths of Russia, to rescue Tony from one of his greatest foes. But that's not all he has to contend with. Tony's in the process of deleting his own brain, and Steve doesn't know if the man he finds will still remember him.





	So Little Left to Give

**Author's Note:**

  * For [phoenixmetaphor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixmetaphor/gifts).
  * Inspired by [[RBB Art] But I Insist](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19036441) by [phoenixmetaphor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixmetaphor/pseuds/phoenixmetaphor). 



> This is one of my two stories for the 2019 Cap-IM Reverse Bang, written to accompany phoenixmetaphor's amazing art. It's a canon-divergent AU of World's Most Wanted/Captain America Reborn, with the premise that Steve came back to life early enough that he could go find Tony during the brain deletion, which is obviously not how any of this went down in canon.
> 
> There's some dialogue from Captain America Reborn at the beginning, and the actual events of World's Most Wanted unfold differently. Also, in my version of this, Tony has more hair than he does in canon. Because why not.
> 
> It was wonderful to get a chance to work with Phoenix again, and the art is fabulous; if you like it, please go leave it a comment or kudos on AO3 [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19036441). The art is also embedded in the story; please click to embiggen.
> 
> Thanks to BlossomsintheMist, Kiyaar, and Magicasen for their beta help.

Steve's first thought isn't something reasonable. There are a lot of thoughts that would have been reasonable. He's fought his way back to his body and he's punched out Sin and is standing on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial with Bucky, while outside a battle still rages. He thinks he can make out the shapes of his friends -- look, there's Sam's wings -- against the fires.

A reasonable thought, especially for him, might be: _How long has it been now?_ A reasonable thought might be: _What's going on?_ A reasonable thought might definitely be: _Is that Red Skull in a giant robot body?_

But, no. His first, instinctive thought is: _Where's Tony?_

He's not new to waking up in the future. He's not new to Cosmic Cube hellscapes in which the Red Skull's fascist dystopia is the order of the day. He should probably be concerned as to whether he's in one of these now.

But instead, all he can think of is the first time he woke up in the future. All he can think of is Tony, shining red-gold, standing over him, welcoming him to the world.

He knows he shouldn't think about Tony. He knows they're not even _friends_ anymore, for God's sake. But it's like, deep down, Steve's mind doesn't realize that. It's like he always expects Tony to be there for him.

Well, they sure ruined that, didn't they?

"I knew you were still in there," Bucky says, dragging Steve down the steps and into the oncoming fight, and Steve knows he has more to worry about than Tony right now.

Besides, Tony will turn up eventually. He always does.

* * *

The battle's over soon enough. Red Skull is defeated. Sharon is hugging him. Everything is going to be okay now. Everything is normal.

And then Natasha leans in and says, "I hate to be the one to interrupt this touching reunion, but we should depart before Norman Osborn and his Avengers show up."

Nothing is normal at all.

Oh, God.

"Wait," Steve says. "Norman Osborn has Avengers?"

Everyone starts to scatter. No one answers him.

Tony _won_. Wasn't that what all the fighting was about? Wasn't that what the SHRA was about? Tony damn well _won_. Tony is in charge. SHIELD is his. The Avengers are his, officially. So what the hell is Norman Osborn doing with the Avengers?

_Where's Tony?_

* * *

They take him back to what turns out to be the Sanctum Sanctorum. It's been magicked by Doctor Strange into having the facade of a closed Starbucks. Steve guesses that while he was dead, Stephen got a lot less neutral about Registration.

Steve guesses that a lot of things changed while he was dead.

"Will someone just tell me _what's going on_?" he asks, and he means to sound commanding, he means to sound like Captain America sounds, but his voice comes out of him small and lost and lonely.

Sam puts a hand on his shoulder. "You're going to want to sit down for this, Steve."

Natasha comes up on the other side of Sam, and Steve knows already that, whatever this is, it's bad. He sinks into one of Stephen's armchairs. No one offers him tea.

It turns out to be worse than he imagined.

So there are Skrulls, or rather, there were Skrulls. Steve missed them. People died. _Jan died_ , Natasha says, and Steve shuts his eyes in misery. The public was unsatisfied with the way SHIELD responded. Natasha picks her way around the words, and Steve thinks there's a story there about Tony, and he already doesn't like it.

"So Norman Osborn killed the Skrull queen," Sam says, "and, go figure, people loved him for it." His nose wrinkles in distaste. "They gave him SHIELD. It's HAMMER now. And he has Avengers, his own Avengers. That's why we're all hanging out here. No one wants to get caught by him." He shudders.

"And-- and Registration?"

He lost friendships for this. He fought a war for this. He-- he _died_ for this. It can't all have been worthless. Can it?

If HAMMER is SHIELD, and SHIELD was running Registration, then HAMMER is running Registration, then the goddamn _Green Goblin_ is running Registration, and this is exactly what Steve didn't want, this is why he said they couldn't trust the government, even as Tony had laughed and told him that nothing bad was ever going to happen, because Tony was going to be in charge, because Tony was going to be telling them all what to do forever and ever--

"Registration's still running," Sam says. "I guess. Technically." He shrugs. "I gotta say it's not the first thing on everyone's minds right now. Osborn is. It doesn't so much matter to him what he can legally do as long as he can get away with it."

"Here's where it gets... complicated," Natasha says, carefully. She sucks in a breath. "The Registration database, the one with everyone's identities? It turns out there was only one copy left. And-- and, because of Extremis, it was in Tony's brain. So he took it with him when he left SHIELD."

It's the first time anyone's said Tony's name to him since he woke up. Steve is aware that Natasha and Sam are watching him, waiting for a reaction, like they've mentioned the name of an ex-lover.

There's something Steve's never told anyone. Not that they had been, but that he wishes they had been. He used to want him so badly he could hardly even think. Anyone who's been in a room with Tony would understand, the way he draws every eye without trying, the way you know as soon as he opens his mouth that there's no one as amazing as he is.

At least if they really had been exes, they would have had _something_ , once.

As it is, they've just had all the breakups.

"Where is he now?"

"Gone to ground," Natasha says. "Last I heard, anyway. He wants to make sure that database stays out of Osborn's hands. He's on the run."

In the end, they're on the same side after all, the one they both started on: they can't trust the government.

"He could have come to us," Steve says, and they're both staring at him now. Sam's mouth is half-open.

Steve guesses no one's expecting forgiveness for Tony from a fella who tried to break his face open in their last public appearance together.

But Tony's in trouble. And if there are still sides anymore, then they're on the same one. Everything else is a matter for later. Sure, they have unfinished business, him and Tony. But now's not the time. They can talk about their feelings sometime when Norman Osborn isn't hunting anyone down.

"I don't think you understand just how much Osborn wants that database, Steve," Natasha says. "Anyone Tony is with is a target."

And that of course means that Tony is alone, because Tony thinks he has no one to turn to, because he always thinks he has to do everything by his goddamn self.

And the awful thing is, maybe Tony really does have no one to turn to. If the Avengers, if the real Avengers aren't helping him out, then who is?

"And we can't take care of ourselves? We can't take care of our own?" Steve asks. He can't believe they'd do this to anyone. Especially to Tony. Tony has given them so much. This is how they repay him? "We're _superheroes_. He's an Avenger."

_Once an Avenger_. It's a rule. They don't give up on each other.

"Steve," Sam says, his voice hesitant. "He's not-- he hasn't been a real popular guy lately--"

"You're saying you won't help him," Steve says, flatly.

"I'm not saying--"

"If you all had wanted to help him, he'd be here," Steve says. "What is this, his _penance_? Maybe he made mistakes. I'm not saying I think he was on the right side of Registration, and maybe there's something I don't know about how he handled the Skrulls, but I don't think it's my place to mete out justice. He's one of us and he needs our help. No matter what."

Sam and Natasha stare at him in astonished silence.

"This really wasn't the tack I thought you'd take," Natasha says.

"We can't spare the people to look for him," Sam says. "We're running ragged keeping everyone safe from Osborn."

Apparently Tony isn't _everyone_.

"Then spare _me_ ," Steve says. "I'm not doing anything else right now. Where is he?"

"I don't know," Natasha says.

Steve meets her gaze and she doesn't flinch, she doesn't blink -- but he knows her well enough to know that she knows more than she's telling.

"You know _something_."

"I know people who might know something," Natasha says, finally relenting. "My contacts aren't the easiest people to find right now. We're all keeping our heads down, Steve."

"Keep me posted," Steve says.

* * *

The team splits up, for safety. A day later Steve's alone in an old safehouse in Brooklyn, one of Fury's boltholes that no one's touched in decades, lying on a narrow cot and pretending to himself that he might actually try to sleep.

That's when his phone rings.

"He's in Russia," Natasha says. She doesn't bother identifying herself. Or the subject of the sentence. "Kirensk."

Down the line, it sounds like there are gunshots.

"Widow?" Steve asks, already tensing for combat. "Are you all right?"

She doesn't answer the question. "I'm not the only one who knows where he is," she says, and Steve's blood runs cold. "Go. Go fast. Go now."

* * *

He finds an image inducer -- probably one of SHIELD's first models, and he wonders if Tony designed it -- stuffed in the back of a locked filing cabinet. Amazingly, it still works.

Steve shrugs, puts it on, heads to Avengers Tower in broad daylight, and steals a goddamn Quinjet.

Subtlety is for other people, and, besides, Steve's willing to bet that Osborn doesn't know any countermeasures for the Avengers' stealth technology. He hits a few switches for the cloaking, leans back, and watches his pursuers drop off on the radar. No one's going to catch him.

Of course, if Osborn's after Tony, he's probably already got a guess about where Steve's going. Steve can worry about that when he gets there.

He's on his way. Tony needs him.

Tony needs someone, anyway. Steve just wants it to be him again.

* * *

It's a long flight to Russia. Steve spends it thinking about Tony.

It's the most expedient thing to do. Steve practices the justification in his head. _Expedient_ sounds like a word that he got from Tony. He remembers Tony saying it to him before the war, after he stopped a man's heart with his mind.

Steve tries to imagine forgiveness, the shape of it. What it looks like now. Whether he's capable of it. Whether Tony is.

He used to daydream about Tony. Now he just wonders what Tony's going to be like when he finds him. Natasha had no hints about Tony's condition to offer. He might be okay. He's probably not. Steve hopes he's hiding out in a bunker, building something amazing, although he doesn't know what Tony could build that would save him from Osborn.

Tony's probably going to be angry. That's all right. Steve can deal with his anger. He can apologize. Somehow, he can apologize. They've made up before. There have been handshakes. Promises made. Maybe this time they'll keep them.

This is going to be another chance. They always get another chance.

* * *

When the Quinjet hits Russian airspace, Steve flips on the scanners, force of habit driving him to search for the frequencies of Tony's armor beacons.

To his surprise, there's an armor identification signal from Kirensk. He would have thought that Tony would have wanted to stop broadcasting. Surely Tony would be running silent, now of all times. But if he isn't, it's not a surprise that his location is known.

To his even greater surprise, the signal's not exactly from Tony. Oh, it's on one of Tony's frequencies, and it's encrypted with the usual Avengers encoding -- it's clearly something Tony made, and it's just as clearly not something that anyone but an Avenger is supposed to be able to track. But it's definitely not one of Tony's armors. The signal doesn't say _Iron Man_ , or -- as Steve was expecting -- _Iron Man Model 29 Extremis_ , because Tony runs around in enough suits that he's always liked to make the transponders differentiate between them.

The signal says _Rescue Armor Model 1._

Steve squints at it, trying to figure out what this is all supposed to mean. It's not an armor he's ever heard of. But maybe the name itself is a message. A cry for help. Maybe Tony wants to be rescued.

Steve can do that.

* * *

He lands half a mile from the mysterious _Rescue_ beacon, which is still flashing when he shuts everything down and puts the ramp down. His boots crunch in the ice. He wishes he had his shield, but it's not his shield anymore. He's wearing bright blue on a snowfield. There's not a hell of a lot of cover to be had in the area, and anyone else interested in Tony will already have seen him coming. But there's nothing to be done for it.

He opens one of his pouches and gets out a tracker to follow the beacon, in case it starts moving. It hasn't moved since he started tracking it. Better safe than sorry.

A quarter-mile to the beacon, Steve sees footprints in the snow. A set of tracks heading toward the beacon, the way Steve is going, and two sets coming back, disappearing west over an icy ridge. One of the sets, the one going and coming back, looks like it belongs to the same person twice. The second person has significantly larger feet than the first one; it looks like boots from an armored suit, but it's not Tony's tread pattern. Steve knows Tony's not the only person in armor in the world, and definitely not in Russia. There's no reason it couldn't be the Crimson Dynamo. But it doesn't stop his heart from clenching up.

The set of tracks has blood spatter; the snow is tinted red. There's blood ahead too, where the beacon points. The tracks align with it. Two directions.

Steve has to make a decision. But when it comes down to it, he realizes it's really not a decision at all.

The beacon still hasn't moved. Whatever happened, if that's Tony on the other end of it, he's still there. So that's where Steve's going.

* * *

There's a bunker set into a snow-covered hillside, its entrance shadowed by an icicle-clad overhang, and if Steve hadn't known that was where he was heading to, he'd probably have missed it.

The door to the bunker is already open. This is probably not a good thing. Steve steps inside.

The walls are scorched with something that looks almost, but not quite, like the pattern of Tony's repulsor rays. The walls are still warm.

Past broken computers and sparking wires, there's a figure in the remains of a red and silver suit of armor. Steve's breath catches -- and then Pepper Potts lifts her head. There's blood running down the side of her face.

"You're too late," she says.

They're alone. There's no body. Steve remembers the second set of tracks in the snow.

Pepper is partway out of the armor, helmet and one gauntlet discarded. Steve thinks at first that she's still wearing the chestplate, but then he realizes that the glowing light in her chest is actually _in her chest_ , and he realizes that there's a lot of things that no one has told him about the past year.

Rescue wasn't just a beacon. Rescue was a name. This is Rescue. Pepper's armor is Rescue.

Tony does always like to give extravagant gifts.

"Who took him?" Steve asks. His voice is shaking. He didn't come this close just to lose Tony now.

Pepper has one hand pressed to her side. She grimaces at him like he's asked the wrong question. "Madame Masque," she says. "But that's not the problem."

That sounds like a pretty goddamn big problem to Steve. Tony's always made some interesting choices when it comes to his love life, and Whitney Frost is the one that Steve understands the least; Tony has always seemed bizarrely fond of her despite the number of times she's tried to murder him. Steve remembers the blood in the snow and suspects that this might be another one of those times.

He hates the idea that Tony has a problem bigger than Whitney Frost having abducted him.

"She's turning him over to Osborn?"

Pepper looks like she wants to say _yes_ and _no_ at the same time. "That's what she said she was going to do." She acknowledges the question with a tilt of her head. "But... that's not why you're too late. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

There's sadness flickering into her eyes now, sadness and a dull resignation, and it makes icy terror slide down Steve's spine, makes him want to reach for the shield he isn't carrying.

"What's happened to Tony?"

He barely recognizes his own voice.

"They've told you about the SHRA database Tony has in his head?" Pepper asks.

Steve nods.

"Osborn's out to get him," Pepper says, nearly emotionlessly. "Tony knows that. Knew that. He knew that no matter how far he ran, Osborne was always going to find him. And Osborn can't be allowed to have that database. So he-- he--" her voice catches, and there's sorrow in it now.

He isn't dead. He can't be dead. He was alive just before Steve got here. There was blood in the snow.

"He's _losing his mind_." Pepper's voice breaks on a sob. There are tears glimmering in her eyes, and all Steve can think is that it has to be Tony's worst nightmare come to life, his genius taken from him. "He's deleting his mind," she forces out. "Osborn couldn't be allowed to have the database. It's a slow deletion. Progressive. He's pretty far gone. I don't know what he still remembers now, but by the time Osborn gets his claws in him, there'll be nothing left." Metal shines in the dark as she shrugs, as everything in Steve descends into abject horror. "That was the plan."

This is when Steve understands: the plan is suicide. The plan was always suicide.

Oh, God, Tony.

He has to-- he has to--

He doesn't know what he can do, but he has to do _something_.

His face feels numb. "Thank you for telling me," he says. "I'll just-- I've got to--"

Pepper shakes her head. "You can't do anything. It's irreversible. That's what he said."

A week ago, Steve was dead. They're Avengers. They always come back.

He pulls himself up straighter, tries to find the ghost of Captain America within himself, and wishes like hell he still had his shield. "Ma'am," he says, "all I know is that I'll never be able to forgive myself if I don't try."

* * *

Steve thanks God that it hasn't snowed; the tracks he left while getting to the cave are as fresh as they were when he made them, and that means that a quarter of a mile back, he finds the tracks splitting from his original course and heading west, blood smearing their way, the most macabre of breadcrumbs.

Whitney Frost took Tony, Pepper said. That's Tony's blood. He must be in that suit, that armored suit that isn't his.

At least he's still walking. At least he can still walk.

Steve's not thinking about anything except the tracks, except _finding Tony_ , as he runs up the ridge, and it's not until he's been up at the top of the ridge for twenty seconds trying to find a way down the other side that he realizes he's goddamn _skylined_ on the crest of the ridge like an amateur, standing tall for any idiot with a sniper rifle to find him, standing right here in the middle of hostile territory.

He doesn't hear the shot until the bullet's already through his thigh.

He slams a hand over his wound, other hand groping for a shield that still doesn't exist, scanning the horizon. There are more mountains to the west. More cover. That's where they are.

There's a glint of light, so far away that only a superhuman would have a chance of seeing it. Golden metal. A mask.

She's reloading.

He should drop back, use the ridge as cover. He should-- he should--

The tranquilizer dart hits him in the shoulder. His vision is darkening.

He shouldn't have tried to do this alone.

* * *

His mouth tastes awful. He's face down in the snow.

"That was disappointingly easy," a woman says. Whitney Frost, of course. He remembers her voice. He doesn't have the strength to open his eyes. "I expected better of Captain America. Also, I thought you were dead."

"Nrrgrg," Steve says. It's not really what he was trying for.

She's dragging him onto some kind of sled. She's tying him down. He can't move. His thigh throbs with pain and is sticky with blood.

"Well," she says, cheerfully, "you'll make a nice surprise for Tony, won't you? Yes, I think he'll enjoy that immensely."

Steve fixates on the only important word in that sentence. " _Tony_ ," he says. His mouth still isn't working right, and the name is a grunt, but she must understand him anyway, because she laughs.

"Exactly, Captain," Whitney says, like she's praising a dog. "Tony. He'll get to see you one more time before Osborn comes for him. One last reunion. I think he'll like it." She pauses. "If he remembers you, that is. He remembers me, of course. But then, he's always loved me best."

_Fuck off_ , Steve would very much like to say, but he passes out again instead.

* * *

He comes back to consciousness, and, without opening his eyes, he already knows he's not going to like it.

He's lying on his side on a cold metal floor, bound hand and foot. They don't feel like powered restraints, just heavy-duty, which means he has a shot at breaking them if Whitney leaves him alone long enough and if he doesn't mind some minor skeletal and tissue damage, which he doesn't. It'll heal. His thigh still hurts. It'll heal too. There's a gag stuffed into his mouth. It's not very secure either. He wonders if Whitney doesn't know how strong he is, or if she doesn't care -- or if Tony's so far gone that it doesn't matter whether Steve can get out of this. If he's too late, if Tony's mind is already a blank slate, it's not going to matter whether Steve can take him out of here.

Somewhere nearby, a cork pops. A bottle clinks against a glass. Steve smells wine.

He opens his eyes.

Tony is sitting there at a little table, not too far from him. His wrists are shackled to the chair he's sitting in. He looks-- God he looks like _hell_ , and even so Steve's heart sings to see him. He's a mess. His clothes are in disarray. His hair is sticking up every which way. He looks thinner, haunted, broken. There are hollows around his eyes that were never there before, not even when Tony had spent weeks living on the streets. There are lines on his face that he's never had before. He doesn't look like the smiling man on the glossy magazines, or even the triumphant and worn man in a SHIELD uniform who stared him down. He looks fragmentary, like there's almost nothing left of him. If Steve hadn't known him for so long, he might not even have recognized him.

This is Tony, Steve tells himself. He's found Tony and everything's going to be okay. Steve's going to make everything be okay.

And Tony doesn't even notice Steve, because everything in him is trained on the glass of white wine that Whitney, sitting opposite him, is pouring for him. He doesn't look disinterested or reluctant or even afraid; Steve used to see, sometimes, a glimmer of fear when people would try to push glasses into his hands at parties.

If Tony's forgetting everything he knows about himself--

Tony looks like he wants a drink.

Oh, no.

"Do you remember when you took me to Paris?" Whitney says. Her voice is soft, cooing, and still with that edge of insanity. "We split a bottle of wine, just like this, darling."

Tony blinks at her a few times, blinks like he doesn't remember but has decided to wing it anyway, as confusion shadows his eyes. "Yes," he says, his voice wobbling. "Yes, of course."

If Whitney weren't wearing a mask, Steve is positive he'd be able to see her triumphant smile. She thinks this is love. Of course she does.

Horrified, Steve watches Tony's fingers close around the stem of the wine glass. He cradles it close. He sips. He swallows.

"Tony, no," Steve tries to say.

The words are muffled through the gag, but Tony hears him. He freezes, sets the glass down, and holds up his hand when Whitney moves to refill it. And that's when Steve realizes that, even like this, even with one desperate distorted sound, even with the amnesia stealing his mind from him, Tony knows him. Tony recognizes him just from that much. The deletion can take everything else from him, but it hasn't taken Steve.

Then Tony's gaze meets his. He's _terrified_.

[ ](https://ic.pics.livejournal.com/sineala/73031/49708/49708_original.png)

"No," Tony says, shaking his head wildly, his shackled hands now flailing in Steve's direction like he can push him away. "No, no, you're dead, Steve. You're _dead_ and this isn't real. I'm imagining you again." There are tears in his eyes. "God, God, I'm losing everything. But you're dead. I know that. I still know that."

_It's me_ , Steve tries to say, but against the gag, the words only come out as inarticulate noise.

Steve watches, repulsed, as Tony's gaze turns toward Whitney, looking for reassurance. Doesn't he remember he can't trust her? Maybe he doesn't.

Steve wonders if he's the one still dreaming this. He wants to wake up. He doesn't want this to be real.

"Of course Captain America's dead," Whitney purrs, and Steve can hear the honeyed smile behind the mask, can hear the lie in her voice. "Of course he is. Have another drink, darling."

She's not going to tell him the truth. She never was. She's insane, and she's off in her own fantasy world where getting Tony to trust her perceptions over his own is probably proof of his goddamn love for her.

As she sits back, Steve sees the flash of a gun barrel under the table, a revolver in her hand, and he thinks bitterly that maybe Tony is safer right now going along with her.

She nudges the wine toward him again. Tony's eyes flutter shut as he practically gulps it down, like he somehow thinks the alcohol will improve his perception of reality.

Tony opens his eyes again and looks at Steve like he's in the grip of a nightmare. "Don't you see him?" Tony asks, urgently. He's pleading for an answer Whitney will never give him. "Don't you see him? He's right there!" He stares at Steve like he's staring through him. "Oh, God, oh God, Steve, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

He thinks Steve is dead. He's begging for a ghost's forgiveness. Steve tries to imagine what this entire year has been like for Tony. Tony has nothing to be sorry for. Steve's the one who's sorry. Steve did this to him. Steve didn't know the future. He thought no one would get hurt after he put the shield down. Tony's spent a whole year bleeding because of him.

Steve can't quite spit out the gag. He tries. He makes an awful retching noise. There's acid in his throat. _I'm alive_ , he can't say.

From somewhere farther away, there's a beeping sound. A phone, maybe. Some kind of comms.

Whitney rises from her own chair and glances casually back at Steve, like she's humoring Tony. "No, darling, there's no one there," she says. She runs her fingers through Tony's hair, proprietarily; Steve wants to break her wrist. "Now you just stay right there. I'm going to go tell Norman the good news."

Tony squints up at her. "Who's Norman?"

God, he really has lost it. Oh, Tony, Tony. Maybe Steve is too late. Maybe Pepper was right.

But Tony still remembers him, after all. There has to be something. Steve has to hold onto that. Even if everything he knows is awful, at least there's something left. Tony knows him.

She pats Tony's head again. "Norman's a good man, darling. Norman will take care of you."

An emendation: Steve would like to break both of her wrists.

Tony's frightened gaze settles on Steve again. "You're going to leave me here with _him_?"

Steve can feel his own heart cracking down the middle.

"There's no one here," Whitney says. She's standing with one gloved hand on Tony's shoulder. As she turns, Steve can see the triumphant gleam in her eyes, behind the mask. "Don't you trust me, darling?"

Oh. This is it. This is exactly how Whitney wants it. Whitney wants to leave Tony in here, terrified of what he thinks is the ghost haunting him. Whitney wants to leave them together, probably until Tony no longer remembers him at all. Her ultimate victory.

"Yes," Tony says, uncertainly. His voice quivers with more fear. Something in Steve wants to hold him, still, even after everything, and he wonders if Tony would hit him. He's earned it.

"You'll be fine," she says, a little more cruelly. "Stop whining."

She strides across the room, a door opens and then slams shut, and they're alone together, alone for the first time since they stared at each other a year ago as the Raft's prison bars glittered between them.

Steve never imagined a reunion like this.

* * *

Tony is staring at him, wide-eyed, shaking. The chains rattle as he has another sip of wine to fortify himself, and Steve tries not to wince.

"I'm sorry," Tony says, and there are tears dripping down his face now. "Don't hurt me, please," he begs, and there's something miserable in Steve's gut. "I-- I-- I don't know what I did, but I know I did something. I remember you were so angry. I'm sorry. Did I kill you? I did, didn't I? That's why you're here."

Steve can feel himself starting to cry. Ten years, and this is what Tony remembers of him? Only their worst moments. And even now, Tony is still blaming himself.

_You didn't kill me_ , he wants to say. _Oh, Tony, it wasn't your fault._ But he can't say anything with the gag still in.

"I was angry," Tony says, still begging, reaching for a memory that won't quite come. "I was hurting you. I hit you. I-- I don't remember why. I don't, I don't, I'm sorry."

This is hell, and Steve deserves it.

Tony's eyes are glassy and his mouth is trembling. "You know what the worst thing is? Of course you already know. You're my hallucination." He takes a tiny breath. "I loved you. I always loved you, so much. I know that. I still know that. I don't know why I hurt you. I loved you."

Heart attacks are more of Tony's thing, but Steve's heart lurches in his chest at his words.

Tony loved him. Just like he loved Tony. But they're both chained here on opposite sides of the room and Tony's brain is leaking out his ears in ones and zeroes, a deletion process that no one can stop, and this is going to be the last thing either of them knows about Tony, the first and dearest memories that Extremis wrote into his brain.

"I loved you more than anyone I've ever met," Tony says. His breath is rough, almost a laugh. "I think-- I think I'm forgetting people, but I know that. I remember finding you. There was-- there was an iceberg and you were lying there and you opened your eyes and you looked at me and that was-- that was-- you were there. And I loved you." He's still crying. "I never told you. At least, I don't think I told you. You wouldn't have wanted to know. Why would you love me?"

Tony's curled up, as much as he can, in the seat he's chained to. Like he thinks Steve's going to hurt him for this.

_No_ , Steve thinks, and he grits his teeth, and he grinds his jaw, and the gag comes undone. He spits it out.

He ought to know what to say. He ought to have a plan. Tony would have had a plan. But all he has is the terror in his gut, so what he blurts out is: "I love you too."

Tony's head snaps up like he didn't expect his hallucination to talk back. "Steve?" he says, in a small voice, and there's a glimmering of recognition in his eyes. There's shame there too. Steve wants to hold him, soothe him, wipe away the fear. But Tony's already taking away everything.

Steve nods frantically, bumping his head on the floor. "It's me. I'm real. I came back. Red Skull had me killed--" Tony frowns at the name, his gaze unfocused, his memory gone-- "and, okay, you know what, it doesn't matter. I came back to rescue you. I'm going to take you back to the Avengers, okay? They're going to make you better."

Tony's gaze flickers at the word _Avengers_ , like he almost doesn't know them anymore. "You're not real."

"I promise I am," Steve says, frantic. "I am, I am, I swear I am."

Here's the bad part. He flexes, and the restraints give, and something in his wrist gives too, and pain shoots up his arm, and the cuffs snap. It's okay. He has this. He fumbles for the fetters, one-handed, but then he's up and limping, stumbling across the room, half-falling into Tony's bound body.

There must be wounds Steve can't see, because Tony sobs when Steve touches him. "You're real," he says. "Oh, God, you're real." His eyes fall shut in what looks like shame, then open again as Steve stumbles, knocks the wine off the table, watches the bottle shatter. "I was drinking," Tony says. "You-- you hate when I drink, don't you? Oh, God." There are tears in his eyes again.

Of all the things to forget, why couldn't Tony have forgotten that?

It doesn't matter. They just need to get out of here. There will be time for everything later, time to heal, time for Steve to take back every petty thing he once said in ignorance. He just wants Tony here and alive and with him, drunk or sober.

"Shh," Steve says, and he runs his one usable hand over Tony's shackles, testing the strength. He's got this. "Shh, shh, I forgive you. It's okay. It's all going to be okay. Hold still, all right?"

Tony nods, and Steve snaps the shackles, one and then the other. He tries to stand up, and it's clear that he can't. Steve doesn't know what Whitney did to him, but it can't be good.

"Steve?"

"Come here," Steve says, "I've got you." He gathers Tony up in his arms and holds him tight. Tony's too thin and definitely underdressed for Russia, but there aren't any other options. He can't get Tony in whatever suit he wore to come here, even if Tony does remember how to pilot it.

He holds Tony close, scooping him up, barely having to put weight on his wrist to get an arm under Tony's knees, another under Tony's shoulders. He's got this. Tony weighs almost nothing, even with Steve's injuries, and it frightens him. Tony's spent a year without him wasting away.

"We have to go," Steve tells him. He doesn't know when Whitney's coming back, when Osborn's getting here. But they have to get out of here now. "I'm going to take you to people who can help you."

"It's not _safe_ ," Tony slurs into his chest, with the frantic, amnesiac urgency of someone who knows this but doesn't remember why.

"It's going to be okay," Steve says. He has to believe this. "Madame Masque and Osborn won't find you. I'm going to take you to the Avengers, and Doctor Strange is going to be able to help you."

Strange has to help, doesn't he? He can do anything. He can do this. He can fix this.

Tony blinks up at him. "Who?'

"Doesn't matter," Steve says, but he clutches Tony tighter like he can hold the rest of his mind inside him, prevent it from slipping like sand through an hourglass. "But you'll be safe. If anyone wants you, they have to go through me first. I'm not going to let anyone hurt you. You got that?"

"Okay, Winghead," Tony agrees, the old nickname, and it warms Steve something fierce to know that even now, Tony still remembers that. Tony remembers them.

"I love you," Steve tells him again, and he doesn't know how long Tony will hold onto that for, but at least he'll know, he'll know as long as he can. "I want you to remember that."

Tony tilts his head and smiles up at him. The smile is weak, but fierce nonetheless. "I'll try."

They can do this. There's going to be an answer. He has Tony, and Tony still knows him, and there's going to be a way to fix this. Steve will believe that for both of them.

The door to the outside is still open, and he carries Tony homeward.

**Author's Note:**

> The Tumblr post for the fic is [here](https://sineala.tumblr.com/post/185264315764/cap-im-rbb-so-little-left-to-give) and Phoenix's post for the art is [here](https://phoenixmetaphor.tumblr.com/post/185263948862/my-cap-im-rbb-art-entry-please-read-the-fic-so).


End file.
